Ashes
by foreverwriting9
Summary: All she can think as she stands there, hundreds of miles from everything she loves, is that this man has no idea what she's given up. Beckett and Castle in the aftermath of 'Watershed'.
1. Chapter 1

_Oh where do we begin?_

_The rubble or our sins?_

_And the walls kept tumbling down_

_In the city that we love._

**Bastille, 'Pompeii'**

XXX

He doesn't send her a copy of _Deadly Heat_, and she thinks that's only fair. She broke his heart after all. She doesn't deserve anything more from him.

The review comes out four months to the day after he asked her to marry him, and she's sitting at her new desk in her new office staring at the newspaper like it might jump up and attack her. It takes her ten minutes to force her fingers along the edge of the newsprint and flip the pages until she reaches the spot where his picture rests under the headline _Richard Castle Does It Again!_

Beckett realizes that she's stopped breathing.

There's a sudden knock at her door.

"Yeah?" The word is strangled and rough in her mouth.

A young man sticks his head inside her office. "Hey, Beckett." For a moment he looks so much like Ryan, all blue eyes and slicked back hair, that something in her chest clenches painfully. "We're having a meeting down in 304."

She nods in acknowledgement, not trusting herself to speak again. He shuts the door after a brief pause and then wanders away. In the wake of his intrusion, the remaining silence is deafening, and as Beckett glances down at the article in front of her she wants to scream. This isn't what she wanted. She wanted-

She wanted _more_.

The word hangs in the air before her, traitorous and sharp. Beckett rubs her left ring finger, realizes what she's doing, and pushes away from her desk. Three big steps and she's standing by the door, finger curled loosely around the light switch as she glances around the room.

The afternoon sunlight spills through the large window on one side of the office, filtering through the curtains, and making rippling patterns across the plush carpet. From her vantage point by the door, Beckett can see the still unread article open on her desk, Castle's picture flashing white teeth and charm. She flinches, her gaze drifting up to the picture on the wall behind her desk. It's a blown up photograph of a staircase, similar to the one that graces _his_ office, but not an exact replica.

She shakes her head, ignoring the pang of pure want that slides under her skin.

(Her office is spacious and glittering and _not home_.)

With one last look around, Beckett flicks off the lights and leaves the room, heading down the hallway, and slipping into a meeting she has no wish to be a part of.

XXX

She starts her portion of the meeting off by accidentally calling one of her colleagues Esposito, and she finishes by referencing procedure from the Twelfth out of habit. By the time she sits down, the room is suddenly too hot and everyone is casting weird glances her way. Mercifully, the meeting ends soon after that.

As people filter out of the room, a man, one of the senior agents, stops her. "Beckett."

She can feel the curious looks slide over her, burning their way across her back. "Sir?"

He leans in closer to her, dropping his voice. "Is everything okay? You seemed a bit..." he trails off, searching for the right words, "out of it up there. Now I know you're not really used to this kind of setting and all of this was a very sudden change for you. I know you gave up a lot to be here-"

Beckett stares at him, watching his mouth move but not hearing anything else he has to say. All she can think as she stands there, hundreds of miles from everything she loves, is that this man has _no idea_ what she's given up. She has this sudden, vivid image of slipping under a line of crime scene tape, Castle's solid presence close behind her and a coffee cup warm in her hands. Everything is golden and soft-edged and she knows that if they just keep walking, they will come upon Esposito and Ryan and Lanie and a body, and everything will be normal again.

The senior agent's words cut through the picture. "I guess I'm just asking if you're all right. Everyone here enjoys having you on board, but-" He stops himself, but even with most of her mind on some anonymous street in New York, she can fill in the gaps.

She's not fitting in. She's not even really trying. He doesn't have to say it out loud.

Beckett steps away from him, loosening her grip on the chair in front of her. "I'm fine," she says, proud of the way the words come out. Steady. Firm. Like she doesn't spend every second wishing she was back behind _her_ desk at _her_ precinct with Castle's ring on her finger.

He nods after a moment, but doesn't look completely convinced. "If you say-"

"Really, I'm fine." She sounds less sure this time, the words starting to crack in her mouth. She turns, dropping her gaze from his and reaching down to grab her folder and notepad. "I should be going now, sir. I have paperwork." Beckett doesn't wait for him to say anything in response, simply spins around and walks out of the conference room, head held high.

By the time she returns to her office, something curiously like heartbreak has begun gnawing away at her stomach.

XXX

It isn't until four hours later that she finally reads the _Deadly Heat_ review.

She swings the door to her new (too white, too clean, Castle-less) home open, throws her bag down, and wanders into the kitchen. The refrigerator is empty, her sink seems to have decided to stop working, and Beckett desperately wants to kick something.

It's around that time that she notices the folded newspaper sticking out from between some case files in her bag. Panic itches its way up her spine. She can't go on living like this. It's too much like drowning. With a sigh, she leans down and pulls the paper from her bag. The ink has started to smudge in places, and it leaves the tips of her fingers black as she finds a seat and starts pulling the pages apart.

His dazzling smile greets her again.

"Castle." It's the first time she's said his name in a very long time, and the word is warm in her mouth. It tastes like wine and mint and _home_.

After seven and a half minutes of staring at the headline, Beckett lets her eyes drop to the article.

_New York Times Bestseller, Richard Castle, recently released the highly anticipated continuation of his Nikki Heat series in the form of Deadly Heat. The book picks up right where the last book ended, and is truly a dynamite read, full of suspense and mystery and love-_

If she weren't so focused on the ache in her chest, she would roll her eyes. It's nothing but another puff piece. She runs her fingers up the edge of the paper, curling the corner under her thumb and trying to breathe. Her gaze snags on another sentence farther down the page.

_As with most of the other Nikki Heat books, Richard Castle has once again dedicated his work to muse and NYPD detective, Kate Beckett._

Everything stops.

_Why?_ He would have had time to change it. He _should_ have...Beckett fumbles with the newspaper, searching for any other mention of the dedication, any indication of what it might say.

Nothing.

She drops the paper, pages scattering around her feet and sliding across the wood flooring. Vaguely, she realizes that she's shaking.

She's going to have to go buy the damn thing now.

XXX

By the time she gets to the bookstore, the shaking has reduced to a mostly imperceptible tremor in her hands. Even so, it takes a few moments before she's able to make her way toward the table full of all things Richard Castle.

She's faced down hundreds of criminals, why is this suddenly so hard?

She circles the table, eyes skimming over Derrick Storm books and pausing momentarily on each of the familiar silhouettes of her alter ego, until she finds the newest addition. The cover is dark pink and Nikki is still naked, even after all this time. Beckett huffs out a laugh that comes out more like a sob. Some things never change.

"Oh!" An excited voice bursts out from behind her. "Are you a fan of his writing too?"

Beckett turns, spotting the bookshop employee just over her shoulder. "Yeah, I am." She cringes as they look at each other, waiting for the inevitable look of realization to dawn across the girl's face.

It doesn't come.

The employee smiles widely. "I love his Nikki Heat series. Did you know they're based on a real cop?"

"I did, yeah," Beckett says, turning back to the table and carefully picking up _Deadly Heat_ as the girl continues.

"She's a NYPD detective. Really badass, apparently. Although I guess you would have to be, to catch Richard Castle's attention." Without even pausing for breath, she notices the book in Beckett's hands, nods, and then motions for her to walk towards the checkout. "But there's a rumor going around that she's not in New York anymore, that she took a job somewhere else."

Beckett almost drops the book. "Really?" she asks, handing her purchase over to the employee so she can scan it.

The girl nods enthusiastically. "Yeah. Can you believe it? Why would anyone want to leave the presence of a man who's writing a book about them? Especially a guy as hot as Richard Castle." She hands the book back to Beckett, her face twisting at the injustice of it all.

"I don't know," Beckett manages, swallowing roughly against the tightening in her throat.

"Me neither." The girl shakes her head. "I'd love to have a guy write a series of books about me."

"Yeah," Beckett says, "me too."

XXX

When she finally returns home, her fingers clutched tightly around Castle's new book, she doesn't wait long to open the book. In fact, she makes it just inside the door before she has the cover open. It's when she goes to turn to the dedication page that she reaches a problem.

What if she'd be better off not knowing what he has to say? What if all that's left of their relationship is venom and resentment? What if he poured all that into a dedication? She imagines it as bitter and cutting, something angry and hopeless that will follow her around forever. (That's not how she wants to remember him. When she thinks of him she wants to see Castle tangled in her bed sheets, hair flopping in front of his eyes, or Castle spinning a theory, face bright and beautiful and everything she's ever wanted.)

Beckett takes a deep breath, and flips the page.

She has to read it several times before she believes what she's seeing.

_To KB. Third time's the charm._

Warmth and melancholy coil high in her throat. _Oh, Castle_. She runs her fingers over the page, trying to stop herself from imagining everything they could have been, because she is alone and in DC, and she messed up _everything_. Carefully, as though she might damage the words inside, she closes the book, her gaze inevitably landing upon the name on the front cover.

There's only one thing for her to do.

XXX

The elevator doors slide open smoothly, and for a moment, Beckett stops between them, halfway out onto the floor. She can't do this. The realization slides down her back like ice. What if this is the wrong decision? What if she already lost her chance? Whatifwhatifwhatif.

(_Life never delivers anything we can't handle_.)

She fumbles for her mother's ring, skimming her fingers along the chain that holds it in place, and then she steps out into the hallway. It seems like a lifetime ago that she walked this path drenched in rain, her mind stuttering over the same phrase on a loop. _I just want you, I just want you_. She reaches his door and discovers that she's not breathing.

Before she can even raise her hand to knock, the door swings open on its own.

And there he is, broad shouldered and blue-eyed and wonderful. He makes her heart stop. "Beckett?"

"Hey, Castle."


	2. Chapter 2

_Your heart beats for another day,_

_I still believe you love me,_

_But in a different way._

**Hey Marseilles, 'Heart Beats'**

XXX

Castle doesn't know what he expects when he opens his apartment door to slip out for a quick lunch, but it's certainly not Beckett, eyes wide, her fist half-poised to knock. He can feel the ice that catches in his chest at the sight of her. "Beckett?"

She's lovely and untouchable and _oh_ _God_ he's missed her. (But she _left_ him.) She bites her lip and something weary sparks through his veins. "Hey, Castle."

He folds his arms, a frown already tugging at his mouth. "Why are you here?" he asks, words sharp. "Doesn't DC need you?"

Beckett flinches. "I just-I thought..." She sucks in a quick breath. "DC wasn't right for me, but that job was such a great opportunity and I felt ridiculous thinking about turning it down, because some people would _kill_ for that job. And I didn't know what to do, and everybody kept telling me what a perfect fit it would be and..."

He's thought about this moment a lot over the summer, crafted well-worded arguments and whispered them against his pillow, slowly letting them drift into the empty spaces she left in his loft (bed, life, _heart_). His hands are shaking. _There's so much to say_. "You shouldn't have let other people make that decision for you," he remarks, wrapping his fingers around the door handle so tightly that it hurts. "_You_ should have chosen. Not Gates or your dad or even me. _You_, Beckett."

She rakes her fingers through her hair, gaze dropping to Castle's shoes. He can see her fumbling for the right thing to say. "I know that, and I thought I knew that at the time, but I was _scared_-"

A weight settles somewhere in his stomach. "You don't think I was scared too? Every second I was with you, once I realized that-"

"DC wasn't _home_." It tumbles out, and there's a desperation in her voice that he hasn't heard for a long time. "Home is New York and the Twelfth and Ryan and Esposito and crime scene tape and coffee and _you_."

The last word is a whisper, soft and certain.

The admission throws him, crashing through his train of thought, and leaving him gaping at her. If she's so sure of it now, then why did she leave? Why- Castle cuts the rest of the question off, swallows around the sorrow and the want, and shakes his head slowly at her. "I can't do this."

For a moment, she looks utterly broken, and Castle can see the weight of everything lining her face, smudging dark shadows just beneath her eyes. Then she sighs, pulls the pieces of herself back together, and asks the question she's terrified of voicing. "Not now or not ever?"

He takes a long look at her, remembers the first time he saw her, all short hair and procedure. He chokes on the words. "I don't know."

She nods, staring just over his shoulder and into the loft. _They used to be happy here._ "I'll be at the precinct," she says. "I'm not going back to DC." She seems relieved that she's gotten that weight off her chest, stands up a little straighter and waits expectantly. When he doesn't say anything in response, she nods again, spins on her heel, and walks back toward the elevator. Castle watches her go, eyes wandering down to her hips against his permission, before he turns around sharply and slams the door behind him.

(He wants to chase after her, pin her against the wall, and kiss her senseless. But that is not how they work anymore, and the engagement ring is heavy in his pocket, mocking and useless.)

XXX

She's been back at the Twelfth for three weeks when he finally shows up, and it's a complete accident that they see each other.

He's perched on Ryan's desk, his back to her, when she returns from questioning a suspect.

"_Castle_?"

He almost falls off the desk at her voice, quickly shoving his hands behind his back and turning to face her. After a few seconds of just staring at her blankly, his mouth falls open, and Beckett can see him struggling for something to say. They used to be so in sync, their conversations seamless, words bouncing off one another and falling into place perfectly. Now everything is long, drawn out pauses and careful sentences, and she hates it. (But it is _all_ her fault.)

His voice finally seems to start working. "Ryan called me."

"Oh." It was too much to wish that he had come back because he missed her.

Castle watches her face fall, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. He can't do this, not with Beckett. (Their story was supposed to end differently than this.) "He said that you guys found a puzzle box at the crime scene, and he wanted to know if I could stop by and take a quick look."

"We did, yeah." Her gaze drifts away from him, searching the bullpen. "I can get it for you. It should be around here somewhere."

He pulls his hands out from behind his back with a sheepish look. "Actually, I already have it."

She wants to make a joke about his inability to wait, his constant need for stimulation that rivals that of a cocker spaniel puppy. Instead, she bites her lip, fists her hands so she won't be tempted to touch him. "Did you figure it out?" she asks.

He leans in toward her, eyes lighting up with the thrill of a problem to solve. "I think I got everything except this part," he says, pointing to one of the corners.

Beckett can feel herself being drawn in closer to him, breath catching when her elbow bumps his. He doesn't move away, too focused on the puzzle to notice much of anything. "Here." She reaches over, catching the corner, and twisting it experimentally. After a few seconds of nothing, there is a small click. The smile that stretches across Castle's face is blinding and wonderful, and as he turns to look at her, it feels just like old times. (A mystery tangled between them and puzzle pieces sliding together and everything diamond bright and impossibly simple.)

She can see the moment he remembers.

"Here," he says, shoving the box into her hands. "I probably shouldn't be allowed to see inside, because-"

Because he's not working this case. Because he's not her partner anymore. Because she told him _no_.

"Oh, yeah." Beckett wraps her fingers around the wooden box tightly, trying to ignore the way his fingers trail fire as they bump into hers.

Castle won't look at her now. "I need to go," he says, voice tight, and all she can do is nod in response. He turns away too quickly, moving toward the elevator, and _see you tomorrow_ catches itself on her tongue, but she is foolish and far too late and he is gone.

XXX

She doesn't find out about his signing at her favorite bookstore until it is much, much too late.

It takes her five seconds to pick him out of the crowd of fans gathered around the small table, and as he slides into view, plaid shirt and perfectly styled hair, her heart skips a beat. Then she realizes that he's seen her.

(She wants to run.)

Castle stands up from the table. "I'm going to take a little break, ladies. Don't worry though, I'll be back." He hasn't really taken his eyes off Beckett since he first noticed her, and the women around him inevitably start to notice. Someone whispers _Nikki Heat_ almost reverently, and she can feel the blush starting to burn its way across her cheeks. She backs away, ducking her head.

"Beckett?" Castle calls, maneuvering around the table and the crowd, and moving toward her before she can even begin to think up a plan of escape. Then suddenly he's right in front of her, face concerned and handsome, and why didn't she give him the chance he deserved?

"I should go," she breathes out in a rush, the words bumping into one another.

He realizes what she's doing and frowns. "Beckett." It's an admonishment.

"_Castle_," she pleads, "I don't want to do this, not here."

His fingers slide hotly around her wrist, and before she can do anything, he's tugging her back toward the storeroom. He pushes the door open roughly, pausing mid-step to make sure they don't have an unexpected audience. Once he's sure they're alone, he releases his grip on her, and starts pacing, puffs of dust billowing around his ankles. Beckett just stands and watches him. She doesn't know what to do with this Castle, his shoulders up at sharp angles and his eyes unreadable in the dim lighting, and it scares her.

It's when he finally stops moving that she sees how tired he looks, how the shadows slant across the planes of his face and make him look years older. "Now, what don't you want to do here?" he asks, the words heavy in his mouth when they would have once been light and sparkling with innuendo. (But that was _months_ ago.)

She doesn't mean to sigh. "Argue. I don't want to argue with you here, in public, at a _book signing _of all places. I don't want to end up in the tabloids as another one of your girlfriends who's willing to live out her life on page six." She's always hated those people, and Castle has probably had enough of them to last a lifetime.

The realization flashes across his face so quickly that she almost misses it. Then he shakes his head wearily. "I wasn't going to argue with you, Kate."

"Oh."

Castle leans back against a stack of boxes, watching her steadily, his fingers drifting lazily over the spines of some nearby books. The silence stretches uncomfortably between them, and Beckett has no clue how to fix it. She says the first thing that comes to mind. "I read the dedication." It's a stupid thing to say, because it's not an apology, and it's not really an explanation either. (Not unless he digs beneath the words and searches, but he's so tired of scratching away at every little thing she says.)

He thinks about it for awhile. "I wrote it before," he says eventually, "and I couldn't bring myself to change it."

_Before_. Before everything was in tatters around them, razor-edged and unfixable.

She swallows. "Thank you," she says, wincing. It's not enough, will never be enough. When he flinches, she adds, "It brought me home."

His eyes slip closed. "Beckett, I-"

A loud knock reverberates off the storeroom door. "Mr. Castle? There are some people waiting out here for you."

"Of course," he mutters, frustrated. He clears his throat. "Of course," he repeats louder, sounding more amenable this time. "I'll be right there." Castle turns to Beckett. "I'm sorry, but I should probably go."

She nods, trying to hide the disappointment pulling at her mouth. "Yeah, of course. Your fans are waiting."

He starts to walk toward the door, then stops suddenly and turns to face her. For a moment, he looks like he's thinking about shaking her hand, and it breaks her heart. (They used to be so much _more_.) He seems to decide against it though, and instead, shoves his hands into his pockets. "Goodbye, Beckett."

"Goodbye, Castle," she replies softly as he slips out the door, leaving her in the hazy darkness, surrounded by dust and books.

XXX

He can't come up with a new character. His first draft is due in two weeks, and his laptop has been flashing _You should be writing_ for three days straight. He's stuck on Nikki Heat, is constantly thinking and breathing Heat and Rook. But that story is supposed to be over, not still living intoxicatingly close beneath his skin.

He needs something new and painless.

_Eric Winter. Matthew Night. Simon-_

On the desk next to him, his phone starts ringing. He ignores it.

_Simon...Star? _What a horrible name. Castle groans, barely restraining himself from hitting his head against his desk. Maybe this is it. The ultimate writer's block. All of his narrative skills simply gone, vanished-

His phone won't stop ringing.

Annoyed, he grabs it. The caller ID makes his heart stop. _Twelfth Precinct. _His mouth suddenly goes very dry. "Hello?"

"Hey, Castle." Even on the other end of the line she sounds awkward, like she'd rather be doing anything but this.

"Beckett? Is everything okay?" He's imagining worst-case scenarios now. Ryan shot. Esposito missing. The too vivid events kaleidoscope in front of his eyes dizzyingly.

She must hear the panic in his voice, because her tone changes to soothing. "Everyone's fine." She gives him time for that to sink in, and then says, "I just need your help."

"My help," Castle echoes woodenly.

"On a case." He's about to say no, remind her that they don't do this anymore, and throw his phone across the room, but then she continues. "We found a John Doe in a locked room, shot in the head."

He can feel the pull deep in his gut, can't stop the question from falling out of his mouth, because really, this was inevitable. "Suicide?"

"That's what we thought at first." He imagines her leaning over her desk to study the file in front of her, curls falling forward and casting shadows across her face. Even in the dim light of the precinct she has always been beautiful. "But Lanie determined from the angle of the shot that the wound couldn't have been self-inflicted."

He's given up any pretense of even _thinking_ about hanging up. "So someone got into the room-"

She picks up the thread of his thought like they haven't been separated for months, and it feels just like coming home. "Shot our John Doe-"

"And then locked the door-"

"From the inside."

Castle steeples his fingers beneath his chin, can see her expression so clearly that he can't stop himself. "Teleporting killer?"

Beckett only just manages to smother her laugh. "Clearly the only explanation."

When he doesn't seem to be giving any sign of hanging up, she starts elaborating on what they found at the crime scene, but he doesn't hear a word. He's too busy smiling, adrenaline and warmth buzzing through his veins, and he hasn't felt like this in _so_ long. "Kate?"

She pauses mid-sentence, sounding worried. "Yeah?"

He made this decision a long time ago, somewhere between his first call to the mayor and the moment everything became about more than just the books. "I'll see you tomorrow."


End file.
